Corps Security, The Series (1)(14)

Turning around, I continue my walk to the kitchen, where Dee is giving me a knowing eye. Picking up the shot she just poured, I down it and then hold my arm out for a refill. Chuckling she pours me another before turning to address Greg.

“Well, big boy, you ready to have fun?”

“Yeah,” grumbles Greg. Grumbles and rumbles . . . It sounds like someone isn’t too happy with my lack of concern for his big brother worries.

“Are your friends still meeting us here?” she asks, peeking a look over at me to see if I caught this new development.

“What friends?” I ask both of them.

“My boys. Don’t worry about it. They’re meeting us at Carnal later. They got held up,” he replies, his tone still sour and his eyes still glaring right at me.

Dee looks over with confusion, not understanding why he is so bent out of shape over an outfit.

“Seriously, G, you need to get fucking laid.” I laugh at him, trying to lighten his mood.

He looks sharply at me, “Are you fucking kidding me, Iz? You two are practically fucking naked, and you expect me to be okay with that?” Pointing over at Dee, he says, “At least one of you decided to wear something.”

I look over at Dee, with her short black dress and tits still breaking the laws of gravity and don’t understand how he thinks she is less naked than I am. I look back at Greg, who has decided that pacing is a better method of dealing rather than sitting silently and fuming.

Whatever. I don’t have the patience for this shit. Not tonight.

“Get over it, Greg, seriously. I do not need a fucking dad tonight. You know what I need? My best friends, alcohol and a good time. I don’t want to deal with you being a little bitch because you have some misguided worry someone might find this look attractive. I don’t care and don’t have time for your shit.”

I throw my heels down on the island, grab the bottle of tequila from Dee, and take a long pull from the neck, enjoying the burn it takes down the back of my throat. I look up and notice them both looking at me with unmasked sympathy. They know how hard this weekend is going to be, especially now with the added shit from Brandon. I’m sure they are coming from a good place with their worry; I just don’t want any part of it. If anything, Brandon has effectively helped me get through the hardest hurdle by throwing it in my face yesterday. Literally. My birthday weekend, also known as the day I lost the last piece of love I had ever known.

“So, Greg,” Dee starts, trying to steer our minds off the heavy shit, “who is meeting us there again?”

“My boys from my Marine days,” he states, keeping his eyes lined with mine.

I pause for a moment, looking down at my shot. Still, after all this time, I can’t help the shudder that passes through my body at the mention of the Marines.

God, I miss him.

Greg is watching me closely. He knows about my past, so he knows what that one little word does to me. We don’t talk much about it, but he knows enough. I think he has just as big of a problem talking about those days. He never has told us why he was discharged. I know he was injured; I just don’t know how. I figure he will talk if he wants to.

I glance over at Dee, who is giving me a knowing look, and she quickly changes the subject. We make small talk for about an hour before grabbing our stuff and heading off to Greg’s truck. Both Dee and I have a nice healthy buzz going on.

We are all pretty silent during our thirty minute drive into Atlanta and Club Carnal. Living just outside of the city has its perks sometimes. I forgot how much I missed Georgia, having grown up an hour from where we settled in Hope Town. I still remember sitting at the rest stop and Dee pulling out a state map. She looked over with a huge smile and told me to pick, so I did. Hope Town is perfect, everything we hoped it would be for two friends starting over.

I haven’t been back home to Dale since I left at seventeen. Too many memories I wasn’t ready to revisit. Most of those memories are happy ones—my parents and our life before they were taken from me too early, leaving a scared and heartbroken teenager. When I left, at the time I didn’t care what I was leaving behind. Now that my parents are gone, there is nothing left there. He already left, so what is the point now?

Shaking myself off, I quickly push the painful memories back into the box in my mind I marked ‘do not fucking go there.’ I have worked hard to beat the past, and at thirty years old, I finally feel the ‘healthiest’ I have ever been. I don’t feel the fear daily. I surround myself with positive and generally happy people; negativity doesn’t own a place of my soul anymore. The pain is still there, just not as sharp as it once was. I am happy, or at least I am on the road to getting there.